21st Century Man
by swishandflickwit
Summary: <html><head></head>"You seem to be doing quite well here, 21st Century Man. Care to tell me what you're whipping up?" He chuckles, albeit nervously. "It's funny you mentioned it, lass, I ah…" It's then that he steps back and raises his hook except it's not a hook that's usually sitting on his brace but a–"Is that… is that a whisk?" Post 4x02 fun!</html>


**AN: Based on a tweet of Colin's wherein someone asked him if Killian had lost his hook, what would he replace it with? And of course, Colin – being the cheeky idiot that he is – answered with 'whisk' so… I think you all know where I'm going with this. Enjoy!**

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><p>There is a chipping noise and she wakes up a sweaty, quivering mess.<p>

Lines of perspiration gather at her palms and she can't stop them from shaking, despite being engulfed in heat.

She absentmindedly wonders what prompted her from her sleep but finds she is still too dazed to care at the moment. With a hand rubbing at her temples, vestiges of her dreams play behind her closed eyelids – Elsa calling her name and begging her not to sleep, Killian's desperate cries as his hook chips away at the ice wall, her father's strong voice carrying through the walkie, Killian's arms around her, Henry smiling brightly at her as he hands her a mug of hot cocoa, Killian's hand at her hair, Killian's fingers entwined with her own, Killian's breath, warm at her head, Killian's heartbeat, strong and steady beneath her cheek and Killian, Killian, _Killian_.

Her heart races and her eyes open when she realizes with a vague sort of panic that the chipping noise from her dreams is no mere echo, but a persisting sound and that they aren't actually dreams but memories and also, _Killian is not around. _

She sits up and endeavors to climb out of the mountains of sheets, coats and varying warming garments draped upon her person – movements still stiff and sluggish from sleep and well, _nearly being frozen to death_. In that time though, her heart rate has slowed down to a staccato as opposed to the forte of a beat it was earlier and she begins to distinguish that the sound is not so much as a chipping. Rather, it is more like a clinking noise – like metal clanging quickly against ceramic – and it is emanating from the kitchen.

She half crawls out of her man-made heating pile, hands outstretched as she pulls herself out, and nearly groans at the delicious way her joints pop from the movement but is cautious, in case there is an intruder in her home.

Emma stands without a sound and sees the dark line of a figure against the dim lighting scattered across the apartment, back to her as the person busies himself (definitely a man as his hair is cut and shoulders are broad) with something at the counter by the sink.

He shifts towards her, the island the only thing separating them, and she is prepared for a fight despite being weaponless and bone-achingly _tired _when the tell-tale 'whoosh' sound of leather billowing against feet and faint smell of rum, sea, spice and Granny's lemon-scented soap hit her.

All the breath leaves her in relief.

"_Killian_."

He looks startled for a split second before he drops the item he was holding harshly against the table beneath the island and is immediately at her side.

"Emma? What are you doing up, lass?"

She is confused for a moment because, she thinks, why shouldn't I be up? She is about to ask him out loud when she glances at the window across the living room, the same one Regina's messenger bird had tapped at, and is surprised to note that it's not even dawn yet – the sky still purple and its edges only beginning to tinge with the orange and pink that signal the arrival of a new day.

"Are you alright?"

Her gaze snaps back to his, her eyes drinking him in, the heat from his touch making her skin tingle despite the leather jacket, the sight of the sky and it hits her like a ton of bricks.

He stayed the night.

"You're… you're still here."

This time, it is him who looks at her confusedly. "Aye." He says, as he nods his head once, slowly.

She tries to swallow the lump that rises to her throat because he stayed the night. _He stayed the night_.

She can't remember the last time, apart from Neal and even then he had left in the end, that anyone's ever just _stayed, _for _her_. She eyes the bed from across the kitchen and sees that it is untouched and she looks back at him, and she searches her mind for the last time she saw him.

_He was at her side, kneeling beside the chair she was deposited upon, hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back, forehead touching hers, breathing as she did, his brace beneath her palms, his heartbeat against her cheek…_

And then they are here and she finally notices the frown on his lips, the furrows between his brows, the line at his forehead and the shadows underneath his eyes.

"You haven't slept," she concludes, the slightly harsh edge to her tone concealing the concern she truly feels for him.

He scratches at his ear and ducks his head in a move that she's come to associate with him feeling either nervous or uncomfortable.

"I couldn't."

She stares at him incredulously. "Why? Aren't you tired?"

He shakes his head in exasperation, but there is fondness there too. "You were the one trapped in an ice cave and you think I'm the one who should be tired?"

"But… the bed is right there. You could have taken it!"

"Swan, I will not take the bed while you sleep on this wretched excuse of a chair."

Right, the gentleman thing.

"Well, what have you been doing with all your time then?"

He scratches at his ear again.

"Killian…" she says warningly.

He rolls his eyes though his cheeks and the tips of his ears are tinged red. "Fine," he huffs, "if you must know, after your parents had called Granny to set up a room for Elsa and she had gone, they retired for the night. I… asked to stay with you. Your father agreed–"

"_Really?_"

The look he gives her, all eyebrow raised and eyes coated in disbelief, seems to communicate, '_Have you no faith in me, Swan?' _

"He and I have come to an understanding. Your mother on the other hand…"

She laughs. "What's the matter, pirate? Finally found someone you couldn't charm with your good looks and your winning personality?" she asks sarcastically.

He is obviously put out but continues as if she hadn't spoken and she wants to giggle some more. "_Anyway_. Henry had bid his goodnight as well – he's certainly grown hasn't he? (her heart flutters at the pride and affection in his voice) – and it was only the two of us left. I admit…"

His eyes don't meet hers as he trails off in an indistinct mutter and she asks him to repeat himself.

"I may have… watched you… sleep. For most of the night."

His face is turned away and etched in a grimace, probably feeling appalled at what he just revealed and thinking she would feel the same.

And maybe she should be creeped out. After all, Killian could have been staring at the sight of her pale, drooling and with sleep lines all over her face. It was _not _a pretty sight and considerably _not prettier _with Killian watching her in that state.

But the thing is… _the thing is._

She's not bothered by it at all.

Cause if she looked anything like the gross picture in her head and _he still stayed the night_ then… then it's not a bad thing. In fact, she thinks, it's sweet and thoughtful and oh god _he cares_. There's a warmth pooling in her chest and a buzzing in her head and she thinks it might be another one of her walls coming down thanks to _him_.

So she takes a step closer to him to wind her arms around his neck and she smiles at the way his arms nestle instinctively at her hips.

(They've not gone out on a proper date, the kind with dinner and champagne as he mentioned earlier, and already it feels like they've been doing… _this, _whatever it is, for _forever_)

She takes full pleasure in the way his eyes widen, his face turns an even brighter shade of red and his lips part and she wants to take those lips between hers and kiss him till there's no concept of time between them but she holds back cause there's probably more to his story.

"You were in the kitchen when I found you though. What were you up to?"

"Ah, right." His face goes red again (she doesn't think she's seen him any redder in the entire time she's _known _him) and clears his throat. "Suffice it to say, having skipped dinner, I felt a tad famished. I hope you don't mind but I've helped myself to your icebox and stove."

She can't hide the fact that she's impressed he knows what a fridge is or that he even knows how to operate a stove.

"You seem to be doing quite well here, 21st Century Man. Care to tell me what you're whipping up?"

He chuckles, albeit nervously. "It's funny you mentioned it, lass, I ah…"

It's then that he steps back and raises his hook except it's not a hook that's usually sitting on his brace but a–

Her eyes are saucers and her jaw has officially reached the floor.

"Is that… is that a _whisk_?"

"Uh…"

"Oh my god, _it is. _It's a _whisk_."

"Yes, well–"

She grabs the arm that holds the brace and yanks it to her, making him stumble though Emma doesn't notice.

"How did you make it _fit_?"

"The round shape at the bottom of the whisk's handle… turns out it fits the mechanism for my brace perfectly."

She lets go of him abruptly and walks briskly to the other side of the island, recalling the clinking noise that rose her and the item he had dropped when he saw her and it all falls into place.

She turns wide, excited eyes to his and his face softens, a little of the embarrassment fading away to be replaced with a gentle expression.

"What do you say, lass? Care for the Captain to, as you say, whip you up a sailor's omelet?"

Before she can reply, still a little stunned to be honest, he is already brushing past her and positioning himself with his good hand at the bowl and he manipulating the whisk in a way that would take her years to perfect (she imagines, he's had quite a lot of time to master it).

Well, she really couldn't say no.

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><p>The eggs are a tad salty, reminiscent of the sea, and he says they ought to be accompanied by fish in order to get that authentic, seafaring feel.<p>

But it was made by Killian's hand in a bid to take care of her (like he's constantly done since Neverland) and so to her, it is perfect.

It is as he is disposing the egg shells, washing the pan, the dish and the whisk (God, _the whisk_, she'll never be over it) that he used that he mentions he will be out the door once she's finished eating and properly settled, at the bed this time, once more.

"I believe I've overstayed your parents' hospitality."

The sky is finally colored in vibrant shades of red and orange as the first hint of the sun's rays run the length of the room and hit Killian's figure in a way that sets him all aglow and she drinks him in, wishing she could capture this moment, this _feeling _forever.

Cause she might be imagining it, since less than an hour ago she was hot and sweaty, but she feels the last of the cold leave her, replaced by that warmth again, pooling at her chest and engulfing her from the tips of her toes to her fingers and she just _melts_.

So she asks him to stay and he faces her abruptly, eyes searching hers for a hint of a lie and she looks right at him, not hiding anything.

He gulps.

"Is this what you want?"

She says nothing because she knows that he knows exactly what she wants.

(_Open book_)

Instead, she closes the distance between them and does what she finally longed to do since they had been reunited by the ice wall.

She kisses him. It is sweet and passionate and fire and longing and she kisses him.

She kisses him till there is no concept of time between them.

He kisses her back with equal fervor.

And he stays.

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><p>Not long after, when they've finally pulled away from each other enough to catch their breath, there is movement upstairs signaling that her parents are awake.<p>

Killian simply presses one more kiss to her forehead and proceeds to take out another bowl, four eggs, the pan and whisk, setting the hook aside once again.

She changes into a fresh new set of clothes and this is how David and Mary Margaret find them – Emma setting the table and Killian whisking away in a corner by the stove.

Emma gestures quickly to her parents to sit after her mother and father fuss over her health and her mother sets Neal down. She coos at her brother and internally giggles at the shocked look in both her parents' eyes when Killian sets a plate of omelets for each of them.

He says nothing to Charming but bends low by Mary Margaret's side as he places her dish down. She looks at him and he winks at her and says, "Milady," in a way that reminds Emma and, seemingly, her mother of the day they ventured to the beanstalk, since Mary Margaret is wearing the same expression of annoyance and suspicion.

But Emma detects the twitch at the corner of her mother's mouth that tells her it is a valiant excuse to hide her amusement and she thinks Killian might actually be winning her mother over.

He heads to Emma's side and instantly she entwines their fingers just like she had done last night, never being much for hand holding before but finding that she doesn't quite mind doing it all the time as long as it's with _him_.

She shivers with delight when he gives her hand a small squeeze and he turns to her in concern.

"What is it? Are you cold?"

She's happy, really but she nods all the same and leans into him, looking for any excuse to touch him.

"It's alright lass," he says as he drapes his arm across her shoulders. "I'll keep you warm."

"Will you stay until Henry wakes up? He would go nuts, seeing you with a whisk on instead of a hook!"

His arm tightens around her and he whispers in her ear, "I'll stay however long you want me to, Emma."

He pulls back and grins at her and she wants to joke out, _Even forever?_ but the words are stuck in her throat and she ends up gazing at him with a little fear but a lot of hope.

She imagines he can read it in her eyes though, when his gaze never wavers and he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

_Yes_, he breathes.

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><p><strong>AN: It's so cheesy but I didn't know how to end this and basically, I am fluff.<strong>


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